They Never Did Find
by Co-Quill-Eon
Summary: Hermione keeps seeing the same man everywhere she goes. She doesn't know him, of this she is sure. But that doesn't stop him from seeming oddly familiar...
1. Prologue

He woke up in a hospital bed.

Not that he knew where he was right away. No, he'd laid quite still with his eyes still closed, listening to the steady beep of a heart monitor and the sound of soft soled shoes walking outside his door. He'd taken deep breaths of the sterile air, felt the thin sheet under his fingertips, and allowed the stark white florescent lights to beat upon his lids before opening his eyes. Or tried to open his eyes, that is.

His whole body felt heavy. It felt as if his long eyelashes weighed a pound each. It felt like he had been filled with wet cement before waking up in this room. He tried to swallow but he might as well have been trying to choke down cold molasses.

The man gave up trying to open his eyes, content to just lay in this bed, and try to remember why he was in it in the first place.

This was easier said then done.

He lay still for ten minutes, shifting through the fog in his brain, before he could grab on to the events of earlier that day. It had been normal; he'd woken up, got dressed, went outside for a run, ate, showered, dressed again. How did that lead to him barely being able to move, heavy bodied in a hospital bed. He concentrated harder, delving further into his sluggish memory. After getting dressed, he'd...he had.....

What had he done?

Gone to the docks?

No, that was yesterday. Today he had.... He had needed something....

Rope.

He remembered now. He'd needed to buy a new rope to tie up his boat. He was trying to sell her, but the old rope he had now was too frayed and he very well couldn't sell a boat that had floated out to sea. Yes, so, he'd gone to buy new rope. Then what? He hadn't had anything important to do today, so he'd decided to amble about and enjoy the weather. He remembered the heavy weight of the bag filled with rope hitting the side of his leg as he walked the beach. It had been hot and he'd wanted a bottle of water so he'd gone back up onto the boardwalk, to buy one. He stood and line and...

That was it.

His recollections stopped there.

The man furrowed his brow. Why couldn't he remember anything after that? Whatever must have happened as he stood in line must be the reason why he was here now. Had he gotten pushed accidently, fallen, and hit his head? That didn't make sense, though. Plain and simple he was built solid. At 6'2 and 180 pounds it would have taken a pretty big person to knock him down with such force. He relaxed and concentrated for a moment, but felt no lingering pain in his skull. In fact he didn't feel pain anywhere. Except there _was_ a tingling in his left arm...

His heart sped up, pounding quickly and suddenly, and he finally got the strength to force his eyes apart. He squinted as the harsh light burned his corneas, but he continued to move to a somewhat sitting position. His limbs were still heavy and the sudden movements made his head spin. None of this mattered, as he tried harder to move his arms and legs.

Just then, a man in a white lab coat breezed in the room. He was of average height, with short, neat brown hair, and clever, brown eyes. His nose was rather large and he had slight stubble. Though he looked tired, his expression was kind, as was his voice when he spoke.

"Ah, awake I see."

The man in the bed ignored the doctor. His tongue was too thick to speak anyway.

"You had quite a fall there Mister..." he checked the clipboard he carried. "Valjean. Please lie still."

The man stilled. Not because this doctor asked it of him, but even after nearly three years, he wasn't quite used to his 'name.'

And of course he'd had quite a fall. He remembered as he reached for the bottle of water right as the blinding, searing pain hit him. He'd felt his arm burn hot plenty of times over the years, but never that badly. Not to the point of passing out and waking up in the hospital at any rate.

But he couldn't tell the doctor that.

"Do you remember what happened?" He shook his head no. It wasn't really a lie, really. Well, yes it was, but nothing he had done earlier that day contributed to his current predicament. The doctor frowned at his clipboard "Well, we spoke to Sydney Police and they reported that twenty or so people watched you collapse on the boardwalk, clutching your arm, and convulsing before passing out. I've run some tests and x-rayed your arm, but could find nothing odd. Has this happened before?"

The man in the bed didn't answer the question. He was too busy listening to the echo in his head. '..._could find nothing odd..... Nothing odd. Couldn't find.' _The man struggled to move again, this time succeeding in sitting up.

Slowly he raised his left arm so the forearm rested in his lap. Someone had dressed him in a tight white thermal under his white hospital gown. He took a heavy right hand and fumbled with the sleeve of the arm in his lap. He pulled it up, hand trembling, to reveal a smooth expanse of pale skin.

Clear skin.

It was gone.

His Dark Mark was gone.


	2. One

"I take it it didn't go so well." Harry sat across from a tired looking Hermione at the small cafe table. She'd reappeared two hours ago on the front steps of Grimmauld Place looking weary and defeated. Now they were at an outdoor cafe in Muggle London, allowing the sun to play off of their skin while they ate.

As it was only five months after the war, to eat out in the public (or to go anywhere really) in the Wizarding world would just be begging to be mobbed by fanatics who wanted to hug and kiss and ask for autographs or, in one case, ask for a lock of hair.

Hermione's gaze shifted from the salt shaker to Harry's face. "No," she sighed, heavily. "No, it didn't. Apparently, learning that your daughter modified your memory, moved you out to Australia to protect you from a war, and waiting for four and a half months after said war is over to pop in and reverse everything is hard to forget. Or to forgive for that matter. Not that I blame them for being disappointed...." She tapered off, and stared off into the distance over Harry's shoulder, not really seeing anything. She sighed again after a few moments and spoke with glazed eyes. "They decided to stay. In Australia. For a bit at least. They said it was to think about things but...." She blinked and looked quickly down at the table, but not before Harry could catch the tears sparkling in her eyes.

He reached his hand out to cover hers. "I'm sure they'll be back soon, Hermione," he assured her. "It _is_ quite a shock. They just need some time."

Hermione sniffed and nodded. After a bit, she blinked once again and when she looked up the tears were gone. "So, where's Ron?" She asked, hoping to change the subject.

Harry sat back in his chair, seeing that Hermione was alright for now. "The Burrow." Hermione nodded. While she and Harry resided at Number 12, Ron was still at The Burrow for the time being. After Fred, Mrs. Weasley was in dire need to keep her children as close as possible. It was harder to tell who was more broken; her or George. He still hadn't reopened Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and spent his days locked in his room, refusing to speak to anyone and rarely taking meals.

It seemed as if both Harry and Hermione were both thinking about this, because they both remained quiet, contemplating. The soft noise of the cafe was relaxing as was the constant stream of people walking by on the nearby sidewalk. As she looked around idly, Hermione let her thoughts wander from George back to her parents.

She was holding back information from Harry. The way she told it, her parents were just disappointed when they found out what had happened. In actuality, everything had been a disaster. They were livid. Or at least her father was. She couldn't really make out her mother's words through the tears. Hermione figured most of their ire was due to the fact that besides using her magic 'against them', as they put it, to alter their memories, she hadn't trusted her own parents to be able to protect her. Not to mention that they had no idea there was anything to protect her from. She'd not only kept them in the dark about her escapades during her school days, but she had hidden the fact that there was a war even going on.

The wedge that had been placed in between them ever since her first year at Hogwarts was pushed deeper and after her admissions, it was no surprise that her parents felt like 'they didn't even know who she was anymore.'

She really couldn't blame them for being so angry, but when they told her they wouldn't be coming back to England with her, it had broken her heart. She hadn't expected them to be happy with how things happened, but she at least hoped they would want to work things out. By staying in Australia, it would be almost impossible to do so, and regardless of what Harry said, they were avoiding her.

She could always move to Australia, but that would mean leaving Harry and Hermione wasn't about to do that. He had lost so many people already, and even though he wouldn't begrudge her leaving, it still wasn't an option.

Hermione sighed again and her eyes focused, then narrowed slightly. She had been so lost in thought that she hadn't realized what she'd been staring at for the past five minutes. Or more like who. At another table, a few feet away, was a man sitting alone reading a newspaper. There was nothing unusual about him. In fact, he was rather handsome. He had dark chestnut brown hair that was tinged with a red that seemed to only stand out in the sunlight. The first word that came to mind as she looked at his facial features was regal. His nose was straight, cheekbones high, and lips full. He seemed to be in his late twenties or early thirties and he was sturdily built. He wasn't bulky, but the muscles in his arms were defined under the deep blue sweater he wore. Hermione shifted her eyes down and looked at his long legs encased in fitted dark jeans. His legs were like Charlie's, she thought idly, then blushed slightly. She'd always loved Charlie's legs, which were strong and long and hard. Of course she never told anyone this, but all the same.

She looked back up to his face and stared at that some more. There was something about this man that struck Hermione as familiar, but she was sure she didn't know him. She tilted her head and worried her bottom lips as she watched him. There was something odd about him she just couldn't put her finger on. It took a few minutes to realize what exactly that was; his eyes weren't moving. He wasn't really reading the paper in front of him. Almost as soon as she realized this it seemed, he nonchalantly placed the paper down and looked to the side, and in profile the strong familiarity struck Hermione again. She'd looked at that profile before. Well, not _this _profile, but someone who's looked just like this one.... but who...?

The man shifted somewhat uneasily and his brow furrowed. After a few moments his face relaxed once again, and with the same ease that he used to set down his paper, he turned his head to look straight at Hermione.

His eyes were a foggy grey color. They were slanted very slightly and framed by long thick lashes. She knew those eyes. Those were... Her own eyes widened as her brain caught up with her revelation and she gasped and sat forward quickly. Without thinking, Hermione made to get up from the table but only succeeded in knocking over her coffee.

"Hermione? What's wrong?" Harry's panicked voice caused Hermione to tear her eyes away from the man's and look over at him. Harry's green eyes were wide. "Hermione?" he said again.

She didn't answer, but looked down at the brown stain slowly spreading over the peach table cloth, to the other patrons of the cafe who were peering at her warily, then back to the table where the man sat, but he was gone. She heard Harry call her name again and finally she focused her full attention on him.

"I'm fine. Fine, sorry. I don't know...." Her head felt like it was swimming. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly for a moment then opened them again. "Sorry, I'm just tired. I think I just need to sleep." Harry nodded, but still looked concerned as he signaled the waitress over for the check.

Yes, she thought. Sleep. She needed sleep.

She must be deprived of it, because that was the only thing that made sense.. It was the only reason that explained why she had just looked into Sirius Black's eyes.


End file.
